


Demons of the Dark

by DemigodOfAgni



Category: Doctor Sleep (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Blood, Gen, Gore, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Horror, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Scary, Sorry not Sorry???, Stabbing, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, tell me if you like it or not, this is just a one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22683421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemigodOfAgni/pseuds/DemigodOfAgni
Summary: Traumatised by the events at the Overlook Hotel when he was a child, Tony Stark attempts to settle back into the quiet routine of his life. Peter Parker always knew something was up with his life, but he tried to enjoy the great parts of it. And Harley Keener didn't want to be snatched up by a gang of soul-sucking vampires.This is a one shot, a mash-up between the MCU and 2019's Doctor Sleep movie (that stuff is good shit)Also, I'm broke as frick, so I don't own any of the characters
Relationships: Tony Stark and Peter Parker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 16





	Demons of the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a one shot, a mashup between the Doctor Sleep movie and the MCU. I just wanted to see how this went (no, you see, the moment I am exposed to a niece-uncle duo, or parent-child duo, or father-son duo, my mind flashes back to the Tony-Peter relationship. It's embedded deep in my DNA, and I embrace it wholeheartedly).  
> Anyways, I wanted to see what you guys thought: if it should stay as a one shot, or grow up and become a full-on AU
> 
> Have fun reading this :)

**Demons of the Dark**

Tony Stark had his fair share of demons, his most recent one being his father downing another bottle of alcohol and charging at him and his mother with an axe while they were all snowed in at some haunted hotel up in the Rocky Mountains.

But that was roughly forty years ago. He was five when they went to the Overlook Hotel. Since then, Tony had locked the devil named Howard Stark in a beautiful red-and-gold box at the centre of a snowy maze in his mind, alongside all the other boxes with its own monster rattling inside.

And while Stark Industries had fallen into the safe (and somewhat traumatised) hands of Tony, he was broke. Well, he _considered_ himself to be broke, despite having billions. Always waking up in the middle of the night in some random chick’s bed, going out and gulping down three thousand bottles of alcohol, lumbering back into his office at Stark Tower and continuing to dwell in the blanket of depression.

It was a humble routine.

Until it wasn’t.

Tony didn’t really know what to call that period, but he was glad for it. He was glad for James Rhodes turning up in his life, throwing a water bottle at him and telling him, ‘You’re dehydrated. I got some more water if you need any.’

James was a lifesaver.

Which was why Tony was back in his lab, at ten o’clock, fiddling with another new prototype of the StarkWatch (he’d given up on his father’s idea of weapons – Tony figured the…the Shine was meant more for good, for the wellbeing of everyone, than harm) when he heard a whiteboard marker clatter to the ground.

Dropping the unfinished prototype, Tony swivelled around in his seat to eye the black marker on the shiny grey floor. The lid was popped off, lying a few metres away.

‘And an _oof_ to you, too, Mr. Marker,’ Tony told it.

The marker didn’t reply.

Sighing, Tony got up from his seat and strode to where the marker lay, the cool air of the lab twisting around him. He bent to pick it up when something caught his eye.

Because, well, no one had access to his labs except himself (and maybe James, but he didn’t need to know).

So he was very confused when he saw a single word written in black marker on the whiteboard wall:

_HELLO_

The ‘o’ had a little smiley face drawn inside it. And it was getting on Tony’s nerves.

Maybe DUM-E had it drawn on the whiteboard.

 _Or maybe it was the Woman in Room 217_ , whispered the small voice in his mind.

 _She’s locked in the boxes_ , said a stronger voice. _She can’t get out_.

With that, Tony straightened, staring at the smiley face. Without much thought, he scribbled _Hi_ on the whiteboard, just above the first word. Then he bent down to collect the lid and closed the marker, leaving it on the tray at the base of the whiteboard before leaving.

When Tony rubbed the sleep from his eyes at exactly 6:17AM, he found the whiteboard sparkling clean again, with a new word scrawled on it:

_MORNIN’_

Another smiley face on the inside of the ‘o’.

It was like someone wanted to taunt him with these unexplainably short messages. Like a child accidentally finding his number with the whole ‘number neighbour’ thing and freaking out about having Tony Stark’s number.

And then Tony felt it: the slight hum in the air, like someone giggling as they waited for a response on their messages. The feeling was like someone stroking the back of his neck soothingly and pressing a warm hot pack to his chest.

Definitely a kid, Tony decided. A kid with the Shine.

Man, he wished that kid has a normal life.

Checking his phone and taking note of the next meeting with R&D, Tony scrawled _SCHOOL_ in big letters next to the kid’s message before he headed for the door. Tony glanced back, not sure of expecting flying whiteboard markers or magically-appearing letters.

But there was nothing else, so Tony left the lab, letting the door close softly behind him.

Harley Keener was beginning to think that maybe he should have brought his science project home with him. After all, the potato gun should not be underestimated.

And right now, he really needed that potato gun.

Harley was huddled at the back of the van, his skin already raw from trying to rip the ropes from his wrists. He could smell the metallic scent of blood, and the sulphuric smell rolling off the other people in the van with him.

And unlike him, they were laughing, giggling and smacking each other’s shoulders. They cheered, occasionally giving small kicks to Harley’s side whenever he tried to move.

Oh God, what was happening?

What— what had happened? All he remembered was seeing…seeing this, admittedly, beautiful girl with multi-coloured eyes and brown hair and a red jacket. She sounded nice, really nice…and she offered to drop his back home, along with her friend, Bruce or something.

And that daze he was in when he’d seen her immediately disappeared when they shoved him the floor of the van and tied him up.

He was going to die, wasn’t he? Die from embarrassment, from shame, from _something_ he had no intention on finding out.

Another round of laughter echoed from the small group of people around him. The girl with the red jacket sat by feet, running a finger through her long brown hair. Bruce was in the driver’s seat, steering the van through darkness. The two other people chatted, waving hands in deep discussion.

Unsure of whether the feeling in his gut was a surge of confidence of the sliver of fear, Harley gasped out, ‘W-Who are you? What d-do you want?’

The girl looked at him with her mesmerising eyes, then gave him a tight smile.

The man in the passenger seat gave a chuckle as he turned around to face Harley. His eyes were icy blue, and his blonde hair was combed back neatly like he was ready to have some photo taken before he left for war.

‘Son, you have something we want,’ the man said, voice deep with confidence, as if he knew something Harley didn’t. Which was most likely.

‘I— I don’t have anything,’ Harley pleaded. His breathing sounded weak, pathetic.

The man right behind Blue Eyes-Blonde-and-Creepy let out a guffaw. He had shoulder-length black hair, and his left arm glinted in the dim lighting. ‘Ha!’ he laughed, throwing his head back. ‘You sure think you don’t!’ He stared hard at Harley as he said, ‘When we get back to the others, you’d be surprised what we find inside you.’

‘Shut up, Bucky,’ said Blue Eyes-Blonde-and-Creepy to the man called “Bucky”. ‘You’re spoiling him.’

‘Steve, you dull sour drop,’ replied Bucky swiftly.

‘Shut it, guys, it’s hard driving in the dark,’ said Bruce from behind the steering wheel.

‘What are you going to do with me?’ asked Harley.

It was the girl who answered this time. She stared down at Harley, and her gaze made him squirm – it was so unsettling, it even made his bleeding wrists bearable.

‘Because,’ the girl said softly, ‘you are going to help us live longer.’

Harley gulped.

When the van stopped, Harley went to kick at the girl. He didn’t care if he was going to get arrested for hitting her, but she had kidnapped him first, right?

The girl merely ducked and backhanded him across the face, and Harley went sprawling into the back of the van. He blinked, trying to get the stars out of his eyes when he felt someone grab his bloody hands.

Bruce grabbed a pair of serrated scissors and snipped the ropes binding Harley’s wrists together.

Harley’s heart pounded. He could get out, he could get away, he could _run_ —

Bruce’s arms clamped tightly around Harley’s middle, and he felt himself getting hauled into the air. The change in the air quality was immediate – from the clean, cool air inside of the van to the damp, dusty and stale breeze that billowed slightly.

It took a second for Harley to scan his surroundings. Apparently there were a lot more people than he’d thought, judging from the huge amount of caravans that were parked next to the van. There was a small fire crackling next to one of them. They were in some sort of deserted yard, and the ground was littered with dust and sand.

Sticking out from the ground were four pegs, each one with a rope tied around it.

Fear surged through Harley’s veins, and he screeched, ‘No, let me go! Let me go! Please don’t hurt me, please! _Let me go!_ ’

He pummelled at Bruce, not caring that his wrists throbbed with pain or that Bruce only tightened his grip on him, but he _did not_ want to stay here. Whoever these people were, it sent something inside Harley screaming at the edge of his mind. Deep down, his gut wanted nothing but to be anywhere but here.

Harley continued screaming and trying to throw blows at Bruce, but it only got attention from the other people present. They stepped forward, and even in his haze of distress, Harley saw that they all looked both normal but unexplainably terrifying.

One had a thick beard, and his were of different colours – one brown, the other blue. Another had shiny rust-coloured hair, who stared at Harley with her cold, calculating eyes.

But the scariest person present was _her_ – a woman with strawberry-blonde hair cascading down her lithe frame. She had a light smile, and she wore a colourful jacket and slim jeans, and she had a curious black top hat on her head. But her eyes…there was something inhuman about them. Something hungry, something dark, something _evil_.

‘Come on, now, place him on the ground,’ the woman said, giving everyone a smile.

‘No, no, no, please, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything but whatever you’re about to do!’ shrieked Harley, thrashing in Bruce’s grip before he was promptly shoved to the ground.

With the wind knocked out of him, Harley lay on the ground, trying to wrap his mind around everything that was happening.

_They’re going to do something, something, GET UP AND DO SOMETHING, KEENER!_

Harley tried to get up, but he was pushed back to the ground. He felt people climb over his legs and arms and holding them place, and he felt coarse rope slithering around his ankles and wrists and tying him in place, spread-eagled. He felt so exposed, so unaware of what was happening, and it made the bubbling fear in his stomach burst forth like a volcano and Harley cried out in despair.

‘ _PLEASE DON’T HURT ME, I’M SORRY, LET ME GO!_ ’ he wailed to the night sky. ‘ _I’M SORRY, JUST LET ME GO, I’LL DO ANYTHING!_ ’

No one moved. They were holding his limbs in place while the woman with the top hat leaned over Harley, straddling his hips as she let her shiny hair tickled Harley’s neck and face.

‘Such a pretty boy,’ she said softly. She traced her finger down Harley’s jaw, and he flinched. He wanted to leave, he wanted to be saved, he wanted these people to fricking _disappear_.

‘What are you going to do to me?’ Harley whispered, tears slipping from his eyes.

The woman leaned back a little, as if in thought. She slipped her hand into a pocket and brought it back out. In the firelight, Harley caught sight of a thin blade, glinting like silver.

‘You have something special, young man,’ the woman told him. ‘The shine you possess is what we seek – and they say the more pain, the more fear, the person who shines has, the purer their steam is when we take it.’

‘No…no, no, no, please—’

He could feel hands all over him – ripping at his jacket, tearing his shirt open. Harley could feel the cool air of the night nip at his skin when the unbuttoned his shirt.

‘I hope you’re scared for your life,’ said the woman, twirling the blade in her hand.

‘Please, I’m sorry, don’t hurt me, _please—_ ’

‘Because we need want you to be as _frightened_ as possible.’

And she plunged the blade into Harley’s gut.

Peter Parker knew something was strange with his life. After all, his parents died when he was a kid, and he lived with his uncle and aunt. His family barely scrapped by on a living, but he somehow ended up in a school for gifted geniuses like him.

And the _magic_ – that was something that Peter couldn’t help but love about his strange life. It always came in unpredictable but subtle bursts, and he enjoyed every moment of it. He even hung upside down from the ceiling using that magic, and he scared the living daylights out of his uncle and aunt.

Okay, so maybe scaring his guardians wasn’t fun, but the point has been made. Magic was great.

Until it wasn’t.

He could feel it, every time that magical burst would appear, his Uncle Ben and Aunt May would avert their eyes from him. They wouldn’t look at him in the eye for an hour, a meal, even a whole day.

He could feel their curiosity, the fear that simmered underneath their skin.

It made Peter want to ask them, _Why are you afraid? It’s just me! It’s just Peter Parker, not an interdimensional demon!_

He never asked them, though.

And he thought he never will.

It was only during the nights when Peter decided to focus those bursts, tried to harness it into a beam. He tried picking up an eraser, a pencil, a pen.

Only last week did he try picking up a whiteboard marker from a long way away, and he wrote a greeting to whoever piqued his magical senses.

And while Peter did admit to the truth of stranger danger (neither of them shared names), he found some sort of connection with the mysterious person he wrote to – the person was like _him_. They were magic! Like him!

That evening, Peter snuggled under his covers and closed his eyes, projecting his consciousness forward to that same whiteboard, picking up the marker and writing a _Goodnight_ to the person – leaving the signature smiley face, of course.

It wasn’t even a moment later when the person on the receiving end wrote back, _Go to sleep, kid_.

Peter tried to stifle his laughter, but he nevertheless drew his astral-self back from the whiteboard. He settled back into his body, happiness humming through his veins as he pulled the covers tighter around himself.

He wondered what he’d dream tonight.

Peter regretted wondering what he’d dream tonight.

He was staring up at the sky, a cool breeze blowing around him. He was in some yard, with the dust and sand curling in between his toes. A little way away, he saw a group of caravans huddled around something flickering, like a campfire of sorts.

It was quiet, and then Peter felt it – a hot, searing pain, deep in his gut, twisting his insides around, like a spire of rock had embedded itself into him.

Peter shoved a fist into his mouth to keep from making a sound – but that didn’t matter, he was in a _dream_ – when he heard the scream cut through the air like a knife.

Peter blinked, and he found himself standing closer to that campfire, next to a group of people huddled around a thin body lying spread-eagle on the ground. It was a boy, no older than him, with sandy-brown curls and wide hazel eyes. For some reason, his upper torso was bare, his jacket and shirt sitting limply underneath him, alongside…

Peter’s eyes widened. There was…something dark red pooled underneath the boy, growing quicker and quicker.

And the boy screamed, ‘ _NO, STOP, PLEASE, I’M SORRY—!_ ’

Another stab of white-hot pain in Peter’s stomach, and another gut-wrenching shriek from the boy on the ground. Something smoky trickled up from the boy’s mouth with every scream, and the people around him, who were holding his arms and legs in place, leaned forward as if they were breathing it in.

 _What’s happening?! What’s happening?!_ something inside Peter demanded.

And then he noticed the woman leaning over the bloody form of the boy. Peter dismissed her at first, thinking she was trying to soothe the boy, but he noticed the repetitive movement of her right arm – a quick jab downward, then up, a pause, then another jab downwards, and repeat.

It took Peter an agonising five seconds to realise what the shiny object in her hand was.

A knife.

Dripping with blood.

It sunk into the boy’s chest, and Peter resisted the urge to scream alongside him when fiery pain burst along his sternum.

Oh God, _they were killing that kid_.

‘Wait— no, stop!’ shouted Peter, stepping forward, stumbling when he heard another _shink_ of the blade sinking into flesh. ‘Stop! You’re killing him!’

He kept moving forward, and he collapsed behind the woman with the knife, gasping. These people— they were— oh God, they were actually killing him—

Peter reached out to grab the woman’s shoulder, but his hand passed right through. Like he was ghost. And he realised: he was astral-projecting in his sleep. And he was witnessing a _kid being tortured_.

He thought his hand going through the woman’s shoulder wouldn’t do anything, but he stiffened when he saw the woman stilled. Steam and blood swirled from the boy’s mouth, and the people leaned forward to lap it all up like hungry, starved dogs at the sight of meat.

Peter froze when the woman turned around and set her blue eyes on him. Her strawberry-blonde hair was like molten copper, and her black top hat sat like a crown on her head.

She could see him. _She could see Peter._

‘Stop, please stop, don’t kill him—’ Peter begged softly.

The woman snarled, driving the knife into the boy again.

Peter shot up in bed, sweat pouring down his face, his blankets twisted around his legs like coarse rope.

He stared up at the ceiling.

And he screamed.

_KRA-KOOOOOOM!_

Tony was flung off his seat, landing harshly on his arm from the invisible force that slammed into his lab. Equipment rattled and items clattered to the ground. Tony was quick enough to twist around to avoid getting skewered in the face by a screwdriver.

The tremor passed almost as quickly as it arrived, and it went silent. Tony flexed his fingers before hauling himself to his feet, eager to clean everything up and find the cause of the sudden destruction—

Tony’s eyes landed on one of the reflective panels on the walls. It was spotless, cleaned to the point where it was almost exactly like a mirror, reflecting everything in the lab on its surface.

And the one thing that dominated the reflection was the whiteboard wall – shattered and lying in pieces on the ground. The wall behind it was cracked as well, but in a very specific pattern, forming a word Tony had seen forty years ago:

_REDRUM_

Or, as Tony knew it:

_MURDER_.

**Author's Note:**

> ...sorry for killing Harley :')  
> Sorry for traumatising for Tony and Peter (yet again) :'')  
> Sorry for making Pepper evil...actually, no, I take that back, seeing Evil-Pepper is an entirely new thing in the fandom, oof
> 
> Anyways, as mentioned before, you have two options:  
> A) this thing ain't so bad and you like it and you want me to turn it into an AU, albeit less gory than in the movie because yOuNgEr AuDiEnCeS and because it's just unsettling, or  
> B) you are traumastised for life, and you beat me to a pulp and I have to beg for forgiveness and apologise for traumatising you and Tony and Peter and apologise for killing Harley and this one shot will lay on the shelves of abandon-ment....
> 
> Have fun choosing -- comment below! Leave a kudos, and everything  
> Bye :'''))


End file.
